


This Is How It Feels to Take a Fall

by HermioneGirl96



Series: Asexual Headcanons [4]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Asexual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Asexuality, Demisexual Phil Lester, Demisexuality, Dialogue Heavy, Established Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, In the case of John and Sherlock, M/M, POV Third Person, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneGirl96/pseuds/HermioneGirl96
Summary: Phil doesn't approve of his new downstairs neighbours, John and Sherlock. But when John turns up at Dan and Phil's flat one day, Dan gets him to admit he fancies Sherlock, and Dan and Phil take it upon themselves to convince John to talk to Sherlock, which he subsequently does to great effect. This interpretation of Dan and Phil belongs to the amaaf-verse by waveydnp. The title refers to falling in love, not Reichenbach.





	This Is How It Feels to Take a Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonsaremembers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsaremembers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a match and a fuse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645375) by [waveydnp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp). 



> 1: I’m not really in the Phandom, but the lovely [jonsaremembers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsaremembers/pseuds/jonsaremembers) got me to read the amazing [“A Match and a Fuse”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645375/chapters/28816584) by [waveydnp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp), so my Dan and Phil are mostly based on the characters as presented in that verse. I’m sorry if they’re OOC. (It’s also been years since I watched or wrote anything related to Sherlock, so the Sherlock-verse characters might be a bit OOC as well. Sorry!)
> 
> 2: Speaking of jonsaremembers, this fic is a wedding present for her! I’m so thrilled for her and I hope she likes this fic (and, you know, married life)!
> 
> 3: Crossover logistics/background information: Dan and Phil are in an established relationship, and their fourth-floor flat is 221D Baker Street, two floors above Sherlock and John in 221B. Dan and Phil work at Starbucks (so I know they couldn’t afford Baker Street; bear with me). Phil is demisexual and used to live with his best friend, Jimmy Hill. The timeline starts several months after Dan and Phil get together and a few months after Jimmy moves out. Sherlock and John move into 221B at the beginning of this fic and have just met.

Paul and Miriam had come upstairs to say goodbye before they moved out—not that Dan and Phil had ever had much contact with them while they were neighbours, since both of the young baristas preferred to stay in their flat playing Zelda and Mario Kart rather than interacting with anyone outside of each other. They’d had so little contact with their downstairs neighbours, in fact, that Dan had remembered neither Paul’s name nor Miriam’s, so Phil had been forced to broker an introduction in the middle of the goodbye. 

But still, Paul and Miriam had given notice that they were leaving. It should not, therefore, have come as as surprise when new downstairs neighbors turned up. But nevertheless, there was something undeniably surprising about coming back from a late shift only to enter the stairwell and find it blocked by a tall, curly-haired 30-something man in a black overcoat who was arguing with a short, sandy-haired man in a jumper using phrases involving the words “evidence,” “police,” and “deduction.” 

Phil stood awkwardly on the bottom landing for a few minutes, but neither of the other men noticed him, so finally he cleared his throat and said, “Right, mates, mind if I get past? I live upstairs.” 

The taller man barely even glanced at Phil, but the shorter one joined Phil at the bottom of the stairs, stuck out his hand, and said, “Sorry about that. I’m John Watson, and that’s Sherlock Holmes. We just moved into 221B.”

Phil took the proffered hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Phil Lester, from 221D.” He walked up a few steps to where the tall man—Sherlock—stood and stuck out his hand. 

Sherlock looked at it for a moment before taking it and shaking. “Sherlock Holmes, like John said.” He let go of Phil’s hand. “Come on, John.” 

All three men wound up climbing the stairs together to the next landing, and then Sherlock unlocked the door to 221B and he and John entered the flat, leaving Phil to climb to the fourth floor alone. When he arrived at his flat, he found the lights off and Dan in bed. Phil changed quietly into pyjamas and brushed his teeth before slipping into bed next to Dan, who immediately shuffled closer to him. 

“We have new neighbours,” Phil whispered. 

“Where? Wait, in 221B?” Dan whispered back.

“Yeah. One of them’s named John and he seems nice. The other one’s called Sherlock and he seems a bit of a prat, though that’s just a first impression. I’m not totally sure, but I think they’re gay.” 

“Reaching for labels, Philly?” Dan teased. 

“Okay, yeah, I know I shouldn’t,” Phil replied. “I suppose I should say they seemed like a couple.” 

“I was joking,” said Dan before leaning closer to Phil and kissing him. 

Phil didn’t think any more about his new downstairs neighbors until the next evening, but then he and Dan were coming back from a shift they’d worked together, and they found the street in front of their building full of police cars. The two of them exchanged a look and then entered the building and climbed the stairs. 

The door to 221B was open and the place was crawling with people. Just as Dan and Phil were passing—Dan looking curious and Phil tugging on his sleeve to get him to come _on_ —they heard someone say quite loudly, “Well, what do you call this, then?”

“It’s a drugs bust,” responded another voice rather cheerfully. Phil tugged harder on Dan’s sleeve and the two of them half-ran the next flight of stairs, though they were forced to double over, wheezing, on the landing outside of 221C because they really weren’t fit enough to run up stairs. 

Through his wheezing, Phil thought he caught the words “human eyes,” which, despite describing something quite ordinary, was nevertheless a rather unsettling combination of words. “Right,” Phil panted. “We are never talking to John and Sherlock again.” 

Dan frowned at him. “I never even talked to them in the first place.” 

“Well, I’m never talking to them again and you’re never talking to them period,” Phil said, starting to climb the final flight of steps to their flat. 

“Nice to know I get a say in this decision,” Dan griped. 

“A drugs bust, Dan! You did hear that, right?” Phil replied. 

Dan scrubbed a hand through his hair. “All right, yeah, I did.” Then he grinned. “What if I fancy having a bit of fun with them? You know, smoking a bowl or something?”

Phil gaped at Dan. “You wouldn’t.” Then he collected himself and said, “The police are involved. They _know_ there are drugs in that flat. Why would you do drugs in a place where the police know people do drugs?”

Dan laughed. “Relax, Phil. My brain is a very delicate balance of chemicals. If I can barely handle alcohol, what makes you think I would seek out illegal substances?”

Phil unlocked the door to their flat—they’d finally made it up the last flight of stairs—and said, “Okay, good. You had me for a second there.” 

“You’re too gullible,” said Dan, flopping down on the sofa. 

“Sod off.” It was a weak retort and Phil knew it, but that was Dan’s fault for doing what he’d just done to Phil’s poor heart with that drug joke. 

“Never,” said Dan, grinning. Then he beckoned Phil to join him on the sofa, which Phil did, smiling. It was nice to just cuddle without the pressure of anything more, for all that “more” could be quite enjoyable at times.

***

One day when Dan and Phil were playing Zelda on the sofa and losing track of time, there was a knock on their door. Phil was thoroughly confused—Jimmy still had a key, and no one else would come to the flat without ringing first—but he paused the game and forced himself up off the sofa to answer the door. John was stood on the landing in a cream coloured jumper, looking vaguely lost.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Phil asked, hating that his voice was at least halfway to its Starbucks pitch as he said it. He hadn’t forgotten that he’d forsworn John and Sherlock’s company, but he didn’t feel he could very well slam the door in John’s face, especially not when John looked like that. 

“Have you got any clean mugs?” John asked. “Only I’ve been banned from the kitchen because Sherlock’s doing an experiment, and Mrs. Hudson is out, and I really fancy a cuppa . . .”

“What, and you can’t be bothered to walk the eight minutes to Starbucks?” Dan asked from the sofa, clearly also remembering that he and Phil weren’t associating with John and Sherlock. 

Dan probably couldn’t see it from the sofa, but Phil saw John blush. “Hadn’t thought of that.” 

Phil relented. “Well, come in, then. We’ve got mugs, though I hope you’ve got tea, because all we’ve got is really shit instant coffee.” 

Phil stepped aside to let John enter, so John did, pulling a wrapped tea bag out of his pocket as he did so. All three men made their way to the kitchen, and Dan asked, “What kind of experiment are you banned from the kitchen for, anyway?”

John shrugged. “It involves fingers.” 

Phil made a face and said, “Ew, TMI, mate,” at the same time that Dan said, “In the _kitchen_?!”

“ _Severed_ fingers,” John clarified as Phil put the kettle on and the other two sat down. 

“Double ew,” said Phil, just as Dan was saying, “In what way does necrophilia make this better?”

“No no no,” said John. “He’s studying blood clots or something. There’s nothing sexual about it.” He sighed. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing sexual about _him_.” 

Dan and Phil exchanged a look, and then Phil asked, “So you’re not together?”

John laughed, and Phil wondered if he recognized the tone or if he was making things up. It _sounded_ like there was longing there. “Not that anyone believes me, but I’m not actually gay,” was all John said. 

“Pretty sure neither of us is, either,” said Dan. “That doesn’t stop us from being together.” 

John sighed. “You know, you’d think I’d get used to being seen through, living with a genius detective. But no, it’s a surprise every time. I should have known better than to try to use that line with people your age.” 

Phil smiled and shrugged. “It’s okay. You reach for the labels that are easy for people to understand, even if they’re not totally true or close off possibilities you want to leave open. I get that.” 

“Yeah?” said John. 

Phil smiled wider and jabbed a thumb in Dan’s direction. “I told this one I didn’t date when what I actually meant was I’m demisexual. Not that I quite knew what I was at the time.” 

“You’re what now?” asked John. 

“Demisexal,” said Phil. “It’s a variant of being asexual. It means I only develop sexual desires after forming a strong emotional bond with someone. It took meeting Dan to figure that out, though.” 

Phil half-expected John to say something about how Phil was a hypocrite for having called TMI earlier, but instead all John said was, “I hadn’t heard of that.” 

The kettle whistled, so Phil grabbed a mug and poured John some hot water while Dan said, “So, do you fancy Sherlock?”

John put his face in his hands and groaned. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Dan, as Phil handed John the mug and sat down.

John looked up at Dan and said, “Who even _are_ you? You don’t get to suss me out if I don’t even know your name.” 

Dan chucked. “Oh, sorry, mate. Dan Howell.” Even though they were all three sitting down, Dan stuck out his hand for John to shake. 

John took Dan’s hand and shook it. “John Watson.” 

“Right, sorry,” said Phil. “Should have introduced you two when I let you in, John.” 

“It’s okay,” said John. “I should have introduced myself.” 

“You know you’re not getting out of talking about fancying Sherlock,” said Dan. 

“I could leave,” John replied. 

“Without finishing your tea?” asked Phil. 

“With your mug,” John clarified. 

“So you’re thieves as well as junkies?” Phil asked. 

“Phil!” said Dan. 

John looked thoroughly confused, eyebrows furrowed. “Where did you get that idea?” he asked, and then he took a sip of tea.

“We heard the police,” said Phil. “The night after you moved in, saying they were here on a drugs bust.” 

John laughed. “Oh, that.” 

Dan and Phil frowned at each other. It certainly wasn’t the reaction Phil had been expecting. “What do you mean, ‘Oh, that’?” Phil asked.

John sighed. “Sherlock is a consulting detective. Sometimes he helps the police, but he’s not always as . . . well, as helpful as certain members of the force would like him to be. And he used to be a junkie, so the police use that as a pretext to search our flat when they think Sherlock’s holding out on them.” 

Phil kept frowning, but Dan said, “You know, that sounds almost convoluted enough to be true.” 

“Is a consulting detective even a real thing?” Phil asked, as much to Dan as to John. 

John shrugged and took a sip of tea. “Sherlock invented the title, but he’s real, so I suppose the title is too.”

“We’re getting off-topic,” said Dan. “You need to talk about fancying Sherlock.” 

“All right, all right,” said John, holding his hands up. Phil suddenly wondered if this confusing little man had ever actually had to prove he was unarmed. Something about the way he faked surrender seemed less fake than the gesture usually looked on other people. “So I fancy my dishy flatmate. He’s never shown the slightest interest in anything sexual and he told me the day we moved in together that he considers himself ‘married to his work.’ He calls me an idiot on a regular basis. I’m not holding my breath here, mates.” 

“I repeat,” said Phil, “I told Dan I didn’t date. You tell people you’re not gay. Just because Sherlock said he’s married to his work doesn’t mean he’s not interested.” 

“I know _that_ ,” John insisted, “but I’ve never seen him make a move on _anyone_. I genuinely think he doesn’t do that.” 

“Or he fancies _you_ ,” suggested Dan, “and isn’t interested in making a move on anyone else and is terrified of messing up whatever you and he already have.” 

Phil took Dan’s hand across the table. He knew autobiographical advice when he heard it. 

John, meanwhile, brightened up a bit. “You really think so?”

“I think,” said Dan, “that, as terrifying as this is, you really ought to talk to Sherlock.”

John laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, right.” 

“No, I’m serious,” said Dan. “I know how hard this is. I’ve been exactly where you are right now. But you’ll never find out if you don’t talk to him, and if you take that chance you might find out something really spectacular.” 

John put his head in his hands again. “All I wanted was a cup of tea and you’re trying to convince me to _talk_ to him?”

“That’s what happens when you barge into someone’s flat, mate,” said Dan. “You have to put up with them delving into your personal life and giving you unsolicited advice.” 

“Fine, fine,” said John. He took a sip of his tea. “I suppose fair is fair.” 

“I think you need a game plan,” Dan said. 

John groaned. 

“Dan is right,” said Phil. “Talking to Dan was one of the scariest things I’d ever done, but we both needed it to happen, and it made things so much better. But I needed my brother’s girlfriend to talk me into it and help me figure out what I needed to do.” 

“And that’s where you come in,” John muttered. “Right.” At a more normal volume, he said, “Do you two actually have any ideas? How did you go about it?”

Dan and Phil looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Not optimally,” said Phil. “We basically kissed without discussing anything, and then I freaked out, and then we avoided each other for a while, and then we sorted everything out.”

“But why don’t you start by asking Sherlock if he’s ever fancied anyone?” Dan asked. “He can say no and shut everything down right then if he wants to, or he can say yes and then you have information to help you move forward.” 

“And I’m just supposed to walk into the flat and ask him that?” John asked. “Real natural conversation opener, that.” 

Dan shrugged. “You know him better than we do. We can’t do this for you. All we can do is encourage you to try.” 

John finished his tea in a few long swigs. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll try. Don’t expect anything to come of it, though.” 

Dan and Phil high-fived each other and then held their hands up expectantly to John. John sighed and then high-fived them both before thanking them for tea and leaving, possibly muttering something about “young people these days” under his breath, though it was hard to tell.

***

John made his way back down to his flat, mulling over what his young neighbours had told him. On the one hand, he was sure nothing could come of talking to Sherlock. Sherlock was too aloof, too _different_ to be interested in anything like sex or relationships. And it wasn’t just pessimism that stood in his way; it was also fear. But on the other hand, he hadn’t become first an army doctor and then Sherlock’s helpmate by letting fear get the better of him. And the lads upstairs proved that something good could come of facing your fears and talking to the person you loved . . .

Loved. Did John _love_ Sherlock? He hadn’t let himself dwell on his feelings, and he’d been able to restrict his thoughts to the word “fancy” up until now. But somehow the word “love” had just slipped in, and he couldn’t really doubt that it was true. After all, he’d killed for Sherlock, and he’d known for quite some time that he’d be willing to die for him. In fact, given how dangerous associating with Sherlock was, continuing to live with Sherlock _was_ a tacit pledge to give his life for him if necessary. If that didn’t qualify as love, John didn’t know what would. 

All right, John needed to talk to Sherlock. 

The experiment with the fingers was still going on when John returned to the flat, so he tried to blog for a while. He made one post, eventually gave up on another, and headed out to the shops to get takeaway for dinner. He returned—by some miracle—to a half-clean kitchen, with Sherlock busily trying to put the elements of his experiment away. John smiled at him and got out plates and silverware so that at least they wouldn’t be eating the takeout directly out of the containers like complete barbarians. 

“How was the experiment?” John asked as he set the plates down on the table. 

“Very informative,” said Sherlock, putting a bag whose contents John was trying not to look at in the refrigerator. 

“That’s good,” said John, pouring the takeaway onto the plates. “Say, Sherlock, have you ever fancied anyone?”

Sherlock froze in the middle of walking from the refrigerator to his chair. “What relevance could that possibly have to anything, John?” he asked sharply. 

“Could you just answer the question?” John asked. He couldn’t give himself away just yet. He _couldn’t_. Not before he knew _something_ about where Sherlock stood. 

“No, I can’t ‘just answer the question.’”

“Why not?”

Sherlock sighed and took his seat. “Because I don’t need _you_ calling me a freak like all the rest of them.” 

“You’re not a freak,” said John patiently. “Some people never fancy anyone and that’s okay. Some people don’t fancy anyone for a long time, and then all of a sudden they do. That’s fine too. It’s all fine. I told you that the first time we went to Angelo’s, didn’t I?”

Sherlock sighed. “But people say that, and then nobody means _all_.”

John frowned. “Have you not gotten it through your head yet that I’m not ‘people’?”

Sherlock frowned back. “You’re a person.” 

John rolled his eyes. “I mean I’m not going to react the way other people have. I’m not like that, okay? I’m not other people.”

Sherlock gave John a sceptical look, and John raised his eyebrows in response. Sherlock huffed. “Fine. Yes, I’ve fancied people in the sense that I’ve been excessively fond of them. No, I’ve never wanted anything sexual.” 

John nodded. “That’s okay. I’m not terribly surprised.” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t think I’m a freak,” Sherlock muttered. 

“But I _don’t_ think you’re a freak,” said John. “Some people are asexual. That’s not good or bad; it just is.” 

Sherlock looked at John searchingly. “Usually you sound different when you’re being sarcastic.” 

“Christ, Sherlock, I’m not _joking_.”

“But you can’t be _serious_ ,” Sherlock argued. 

“Why not?” John demanded.

“Because—because—because _nobody’s_ okay with that.” 

“Again: I’m not ‘people,’ Sherlock. I’m not ‘everybody.’ Don’t you know that by now?”

Sherlock looked at John for several moments. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

John nodded. 

“You’re really okay with it?”

John nodded again. 

“Why couldn’t I have met you sixteen years ago?” Sherlock asked. 

“What happened sixteen years ago?” John asked, doing some quick maths. Sherlock would have been, what? Eighteen or so? Starting uni? Or maybe he started uni at twelve or something; it wasn’t a topic he and John had discussed.

Sherlock looked down at his plate. “I fancied someone who—ahem—didn’t feel the way you do about all of this. No one had ever told me it was okay to just . . . not want sex, and—” 

John got up from his chair and walked around the table to Sherlock. He reached out to hug Sherlock and then stopped and asked, “Can I hug you?”

Sherlock reached up toward John in response and clung to him with surprising strength and fervor. John didn’t let go until multiple minutes later, when Sherlock pulled back.

“Sherlock, are you all right?” John asked, squatting next to Sherlock’s chair rather than returning to his own. 

“Sorry,” said Sherlock, for what John was convinced might have been the first time in his life. And—were those _tears_ in his eyes?

“You have _nothing_ to apologize for,” John said fervently. 

“But—” 

“No. What happened to you is not your fault. The way you are is not your fault. Being upset about it now is not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong here, Sherlock. You were just made differently than most people and that’s been hard, but that’s on society; it’s not on you. Okay?”

“John, I—” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I think before anything else happens you deserve to know that my feelings for you are not wholly platonic.” 

John smiled softly. “I was trying to find a tactful way to say the same to you.” 

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Please don’t say that just to please me.” 

“What? Sherlock, I’m not. I genuinely have feelings for you and I’m so bloody chuffed that you feel the same about me.” 

“But I don’t feel the _same,_ John,” said Sherlock, opening his eyes and looking at John. “I’m sure there’s a sexual element to your feelings, and there’s not one to mine. This makes things harder, not easier.” 

John restrained himself from reaching out and taking Sherlock’s hands. He couldn’t do _anything_ without asking, not given what Sherlock had just revealed about his past. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure things out. That’s what that brain of yours is for, isn’t it?”

“You know I’m rubbish with people.” 

John sighed. “That was a joke. But really, it’s going to be okay. Can I hold your hands?”

“Of course,” said Sherlock, extending his hands toward John.

John took Sherlock’s long, thin hands in his own stubby ones. “If you want to be with me, then we’ll be together and we’ll figure it out,” said John. “And if you don’t want to take that risk, we’ll remain flatmates and friends and everything will be fine. But either way I promise you I will not pressure you for sex.” 

Sherlock blinked several times but kept his eyes on John. “There’s no reason for me to be high,” he muttered. 

John frowned. “What?”

“And I never liked hallucinogens anyway,” Sherlock continued. “I know I don’t have any lying around.” 

Now John was worried. “Sherlock, are you okay? Tell me what you see.” 

“You’re squatting in front of me. I can see the lounge from here. There are two armchairs in the lounge, and a table with wooden chairs. It’s dark outside the window, but there’s a glow from the streetlamps.” 

John checked behind him. Yes, everything looked normal, just as Sherlock described. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re not hallucinating.” 

“But I thought I heard you say we could be together, or not, and either way you wouldn’t pressure me for sex.” 

“Christ, Sherlock. That’s because that’s what I said. Is it _that_ unbelievable that I believe in consent?”

“But nobody believes in it _that_ much.” 

“Pretty sure that’s what believing in consent _means_.” 

“But—you like sex.” 

“When the other person likes it too, yeah.” 

Sherlock looked puzzled. “Does that really make it better?”

“Oh God,” said John faintly. “ _Yes,_ that makes it better. Morally and sensually.” 

Sherlock sat back, looking defeated. “Well that’s that, then. It wouldn’t be good with me.” 

“No, sex probably _wouldn’t_ be good with you,” John agreed. “But that’s okay. We don’t have to have sex.” 

“But—” 

“No. No buts.” 

Sherlock swallowed. “So we can’t be together.” 

“What? Sherlock, no. We can be together. If you want. Being together doesn’t _have_ to involve sex.” 

“What else is there?”

“Plenty. What do you like?” John asked.

“What do you mean?” 

John huffed. “I know you, Sherlock. You wouldn’t have been in a relationship if you hated _every_ minute of it. You don’t have that much of a capacity for self-denial. You must have liked _something_ in order to get into a situation where you were putting up with unwanted sex.” 

Sherlock looked down, breaking eye contact for the first time in a while. “That’s not how this works.” 

“What do you mean?” John had a realization. “Was it _drugs_?”

“What? No! I just meant—the things I like don’t come free.” 

“ _What do you like?_ ” John pressed. 

Sherlock continued looking at his lap. “Cuddling? Back rubs? Foot rubs?”

“Oh God,” John breathed. “And someone made you pay for those in _sex_?” He stood slowly, both because he was stiff and altogether too old to crouch for that long, and because he didn’t want to yank Sherlock’s hands upward as he stood. “Can we take this to the sofa?”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, looking up at John distrustfully. 

“Because you sound like you need a cuddle, and to be honest I could use one myself.” 

Sherlock pulled his hands out of John’s. “But I thought—”

“No strings attached,” John promised, folding his arms. “I swear.” 

“There are _always_ strings,” Sherlock insisted. 

“No,” John insisted. “There aren’t. I’m not other people, Sherlock. Please believe me.” 

Sherlock stood, glancing at John, away, and then at John again. John took that as a good sign and made his way to the sofa, where he sat down, kicked his shoes off, and folded his legs up under him. Sherlock followed John and sat, too, just out of reach. 

“No cuddling?” John asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. 

Sherlock threw another glance at John. “No strings?”

“No strings,” John affirmed. 

Sherlock scooted closer to John and leaned sideways until his head rested on John’s shoulder, which required a bit of contortion given the height difference. John liked the weight of Sherlock’s head on his shoulder and the tickle of Sherlock’s curly hair against his neck. 

“How would you feel if I put an arm around you?” John asked. 

“Still no strings?”

John resisted the urge to sigh or snap. This was coming from somewhere, he knew. Sherlock wasn’t being dense on purpose; he was struggling with a concept that should have been familiar but wasn’t because he’d been mistreated. “Still no strings,” John promised. 

“Then I think I’d like that,” said Sherlock, so John put an arm around Sherlock’s bony shoulders and felt Sherlock relax into him. 

“How’s that?” asked John. 

“Good,” Sherlock said. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Is this—all?”

“What do you mean?” John asked. 

“Is this all we’re ever going to do?” Sherlock clarified. 

“Unless you want more.” 

“I mean, is tonight—”

“Oh,” John interrupted, unable to contain the word when he suddenly understood what Sherlock meant. “No. Definitely not. I’ve fancied you for _months_ , Sherlock, and until tonight I hadn’t seriously considered that you might fancy me back. I’m not going to suddenly give up on you just because you don’t want sex.” 

“You say that like it’s not a big deal,” said Sherlock. 

John felt caught. He didn’t quite know what to say. 

After John had been silent for a few moments, Sherlock murmured, “See? It matters. You know you don’t _really_ want this.” 

John sighed. “No, Sherlock, I do. Sex matters, but it isn’t everything. I’m not quite sure how this will work and I can’t promise right now that it’ll be forever, but I can promise it’ll be a good long while because I’m in love with you and I can’t picture that changing anytime soon.” He took a breath for the first time since beginning to answer Sherlock and then said, “Is that good enough for you?”

“You’re in love with me?” Sherlock whispered. 

“Sorry,” said John. “Too much?”

“No, I just—you mean that?”

“ _Yes_ , Sherlock.” 

“Oh,” said Sherlock. “Oh.” And then: “I love you too.” 

“Yeah?” said John.

“Yeah.” 

This wasn’t the end of anything. It would take more talking—more convincing Sherlock that John really believed in consent—before anything was really settled. But it was a good beginning, and, with the weight of Sherlock’s head on John’s shoulder and the tickle of Sherlock’s hair on John’s neck, John was convinced that this story would spool out for a long, long time. 

Next he saw them, he’d need to thank the lads upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit is due: the title is from Bastille’s “Icarus;” [waveydnp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp) introduced me to Dan and Phil through [“A Match and a Fuse;”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645375/chapters/28816584) [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori) wrote about flats 221A-221E in [“Performance in a Leading Role”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/225563/chapters/341590) (which is a fic that’s had a huge impact on my life and worldview and which you should definitely read if you’re interested in a smutty Sherlock actor AU); and [sylviarachel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylviarachel/pseuds/sylviarachel) wrote Sherlock being asexual and having lots of hangups due to an unpleasant sexual past in [“That’s How the Light Gets In.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111980/chapters/2238934) All of these fics are amazing and influenced this fic!


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